


The Ballad of Trickster Dave and the Coward Karkat Vantas

by quartile



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Altered States, Earth C, F/F, Fluff, Heartbreak, Hot Chocolate, Intoxication, M/M, Post-Canon, RoseMarried, Trickster Dave - Freeform, Tricksters, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8424250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartile/pseuds/quartile
Summary: You sidle over to Dirk. "Tell me there's a way to get Dave back to normal."
"Can't be helped. There's no 'undo' for the juju. You just have to wait it out, or shock him out of it. Of course, if symptoms last longer than four hours, call your doctor."
"Ugh, did you seriously just wink at me?"
"Lighten up, Karkat. It's a party. Let them have their fun."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Half of what I say is meaningless,  
> but I say it just to reach you"  
> \- almost certainly from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

**Karkat: Boggle vacantly at these wedding shenanigans.**

To be honest, you _are_ vaguely boggled about Kanaya human-marrying Rose. Ever since they came for dinner and told you and Dave their news, you’ve had a front-row seat to the production of this peculiar but romantic phenomenon you’ve seen played out so many ways on your husktop screen. But you’re still not sure why she feels it’s necessary.

Kanaya, ages ago on the meteor, was always several steps ahead of you when it came to understanding the humans. After you finally let her in on your confused clutch of feelings regarding Dave, she and you spent many an hour debating matespritship, moirallegiance, and human love versus troll pity. Sometimes Rose joined you. Eventually you came to understand that, although “love” was a flexible word that could mean different things depending on whether you were talking about people, pastimes, or pizza, when it referred to romance, it included—and allowed for—a fuzzier range of emotions and attractions than matespritship or moirallegiance alone. The boundaries, to you, are uncomfortably blurred. “Love” never quite sat right with you.

Now Rose is reciting her vows under a flower-strewn arch while Kanaya watches her, eyes brimming with emotion. Then it’s Kanaya’s turn to speak. The Mayor, dapper in a tailored suit and extra-tall top hat, reaches up and joins their hands together. Next to you, Dave surreptitiously brushes your hand with his. You grasp it, not taking your eyes off the ceremony. 

John reads from a card the Mayor has passed to him. “Kanaya, Rose, as your Mayor and your friend, it is my honor and delight to witness this union. May you bring each other joy, comfort, and strength. Let the celebrations commence!”

Anything else he says is completely drowned out by cheers and applause. A band strikes up a tune as your friends rush to wrap the newlyweds in a massive group hug. 

“Psst. Don’t weep on the suit.” Dave passes you his red silk pocket square. You wipe your eyes hastily. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you say, stuffing the silk into a pocket. “Did every adult human go through this ritual?”

“Many, not all. With varying degrees of success. Choosing the right partner is important, but success or failure really depended on who they chose to emcee the ceremony.”

“What’s that sound? My hoofbeast shit detector is going off again.”

“No joke. For a truly successful wedding, you needed someone famous running the show. Like Chuck Norris or Mrs. Butterworth. Back me up here, John,” he says as John approaches.

“My dad used to say that the best wedding he ever attended was officiated by Neil Armstrong,” says John. “First of its kind, and the couple was over the moon.” He fist-bumps Dave and walks away, toward the punch bowl.

“What do you know, visiting hours just ended at the kiddie asylum,” you say. “I’m going to go find someone sane to talk to. Enjoy yourself.”

 

**Dave: Enjoy yourself.**

Calliope and Roxy are giggling together by the buffet table. Calliope spots you moseying up to them and immediately hides something behind her back. Roxy makes an exaggerated “shhh” noise and bursts out laughing.

“Having a good time, Dave?” says Roxy, catching her breath.

“Not half as good as you two,” you say. “You going to share your secret stash or what?”

“Brilliant idea!” says Calliope. “Plenty to go around.”

“But first...” says Roxy silkily, “are you... experienced?” She peeks behind Calliope’s back. “Callie, show him the gate to nirvana.”

The cherub looks this way and that before whipping out... a green and red spiral lollipop. “Ta-daa!” Okay...

“Okay...” you say, underwhelmed. “You’re flying high on sucrose. Good for you. Imma go harass the newlyweds. Get in on some cake action before the stampede.”

“Oh no you don’t!” cries Roxy, grabbing your sleeve as Calliope collapses in a fit of giggles. “You can’t leave without at least tasting it. We only bring out the special lolly for special occasions.” 

“Ever so special,” says Callie. “You simply must taste it.”

“First hit is free, huh?” you say.

“Here,” says Roxy, taking you by one hand and reaching for the lollipop with the other. “Together, on three. One, two...” She holds up the lollipop and extends her tongue, gesturing for you to do the same.

“Whoa, wait, together? How many people have licked this thing? I’m kind of a one-lollipop guy, if you catch my meaning.”

“Davey gravy, are you chicken?” teases Roxy. “Chick chick chicken! Buck buck buck bawk!”

“You won’t be sorry, I promise,” Callie cajoles you. Roxy begins a chant of “Lick it! Lick it! Lick it!”

Whatever. It’s not as if this wedding reception was going to become more interesting on its own. You shrug and lean in.

_Your fingers and toes spread out, out, until you touch the edges of Paradox Space!_  
_Your head expands to the size of a red giant, then shrinks to a white dwarf, then pops!_  
_Your hair flashes through a cycle of rainbow hues before settling into a vivid aqua green!_  
_Your skin feels infused with unicorn blood and topped with purple sparkles!_  
_Your heart skitters and bounces like a superball from a 25-cent vending machine!_

Oh WOW there are STRAWBERRIES in your HAIR! 

You’ve got to show Karkat!

 

**Karkat: Wonder what fresh hell this is.**

“Karkat Karkat hey Karkat!”

You look up from your conversation with the Mayor and do a double-take at the candy-colored blur zooming toward you. That’s definitely not what Dave was wearing when you left the hive. Heart-shaped shades? Pink and yellow knight garb? Green hair? “Dave, what the fuck?”

He tackles you, laughing. “Karkat! Check out my sweet new duds! Look look look!” He’s beaming as if showing you his firstborn child. “There are strawberries in my hair, Karkat! In my HAIR!”

You recoil in horror.“Who are you and what have you done with Dave?”

Dave fucking _chortles._ “Bite my berries, Karkat! Bite them!” He tugs you face-first into his glowing green hair.

“Get off me!”

“Sooooo juicy! Come on come on come on come _onnnnn!”_ Dave dances around you like a caffeinated ferret. “I feel so... fruity!”

The Mayor applauds. Dave lifts the carapacian up and tangos him across the room. The enormous top hat crashes into a chandelier and topples off. The dancers careen dangerously close to a tall stacked display of champagne flutes. Two waiters are standing on stepladders, pouring champagne from the top. Dave and the Mayor barely avoid taking down the entire tower. 

Someone is going to get hurt, and fuck if you’re going to be the nurse when they do. 

You scan the room, trying to figure out who’s responsible for this idiocy. There’s Roxy and Calliope in cahoots near the dance floor. There’s John running up to them. There’s Jake practically dragging Dirk in the same direction. Jane’s headed that way too.

Wait, what just happened? 

You look back at Roxy. A minute ago she was in a chic pink dress; now she’s just as loopy and jellybean-hued as Dave. Calliope is waving a lollipop around, tapping each of your friends on the lips with it. Pop! John’s a smiley blond fiend. Pop! Jane’s in zany striped tights and is grinning wider than Aradia at her creepiest. Pop! Jake’s wearing booty shorts—you did _not_ need to see that—and swinging Jane around by both hands. Pop! Dirk is... as stoic as a man with a can of orange soda in his hair can be.

The group pulls Rose and Kanaya onto the dance floor. Somebody produces a pair of chairs, and in a moment the newlyweds are riding high over the crowd, shrieking as the tricksters parade them around the room. You sidle over to Dirk, who’s playing with a long bendy drinking straw.

“Tell me there’s a way to get Dave back to normal,” you say.

“Can’t be helped. There’s no ‘undo’ for the juju. You just have to wait it out, or shock him out of it. Of course,” he adds, “if symptoms last longer than four hours, call your doctor.” 

“Ugh, did you seriously just wink at me?”

“Lighten up, Karkat. It’s a party. Let them have their fun.” He pokes the straw into the orange soda can on his head and takes a sip. 

The cluster of revelers has reached the champagne tower, and flutes of bubbly are being passed up to the brides and around the room. Somebody shouts over the crowd, “A toast to Kanaya and Rose!”

“To Kanaya and Rose!”

“A toast to true love!”

“To true love!”

“To perpetual vacillation,” you mutter under your breath.

When you finally spot Dave in the crowd, he’s hoisting himself onto a buffet table. “Gimme a beat!” he yelps. He beatboxes into an imaginary microphone. “Yo, check it.”

_Callie got the pop_  
_and the swirl don't stop_  
_party like a rainbow_  
_make your brain go snop_  
_had to take a lick, sir,_  
_turned into a trickster_  
_lick it like a stamp_  
_tongue’s gonna cramp_

Oh god, this can’t end well. “Dave, stop,” you shout, running toward him.

“Karkat!” he says joyfully. “Hey Karkat!” 

_You know you wanna taste it_  
_shiny like Prospit_  
_I'll give you a spit-shine_  
_baby ‘cause you're so fine_  
_I'm a dreamin’ Dersite_  
_give it to you all night_  
_come and take a sweet ride_  
_Strider on the inside_  
_cruisin’ with the trickster—_

“—Not around your sister!” You grab Dave around the waist before he can stage-dive into Rose’s lap.

“Karkat! I love you!” Dave wraps his arms around you and kisses you on the nose. “I love your cute horns and your yummy growls and your big nose—”

“Knock it off. Everybody’s watching. And I don’t have a big nose.”

“Aww, you so growly, Karkat, but they already know you’re my honey bear,” he sings. “Gimme some honey, Pooh bear. Kiss me.” 

“I'm taking you home, you’ve had enough,” you say, hoisting him across your shoulders in a fireman carry as Rose lifts her champagne glass and Kanaya blows a kiss. 

“Good night, ladies! Good night, sweet ladies! Good night, good night!” Dave crows. “Home, my trusty steed!”

 

**Karkat: Fuck up completely.**

You pile Dave into a hovercraft and direct it back to Troll Kingdom. The craft lands and you walk the rest of the way home. Or rather, you walk and he flash-steps a one-man ring around the rosy. You’re apparently the rosy.

“Karkat Karkat hey Karkat!” The kid’s got springs for legs and no sense in his head. “Karkat! I ruv roo!” He adopts a gruff Scooby-Doo accent. “I ruv roo, Karkat.”

He can’t be serious. “Did someone tell you I wanted to be romanced by a deranged cartoon dog today? Because, breaking news, no.”

“But Karkat.” He blinks big puppy eyes at you, framed by heart-eye shades. “It's truuuuuue. I lurrrrve you.”

“Cut it out.” You reach the front walk. Dave is still spinning like a crazed music box ballerina. He wheels about and moonwalks backwards.

“Kat-kar, Kat-kar, you love I!”

“Give it a rest, you flailing nightmare.”

“Kat-kar, too me love you do?”

“Enough. Talk to me when you're ready to stop acting like a possessed puppet.”

_*Pop.*_

The Dave carousel screeches to a halt. The candy colors of his god attire drain away before your eyes like the world's saddest magic trick. Dave is left standing there in shock, the juju spell broken. Because you had to go and say that. Because the only thing you’re good at is ruining everything you touch.

_Oh no. Oh fuck._ “Dave...”

“'S cool, bro.” His expression is stony. “Dunno what got into me.”

He kicks a pebble. It tumbles away from him as he pushes past you and walks into the house. That cramp in your chest is you realizing you haven’t heard him use that monotone with you in years.

\--

You find him in the kitchen, filling a wine glass with water.

“I didn't mean it.” 

“It doesn't matter.”

“No. We’re not doing this again. It obviously matters.”

He runs a fingertip around the rim of the glass, trying to make it sing.

“Come on, Dave.” 

He won’t look at you. “I’m not a puppet.”

“It just slipped out. I didn’t mean it.”

He swallows some water. Plays a lower note on the glass. “I meant what I said.”

“I know. I got it. You’re not a puppet.”

“Not that.” He drains the glass. “How do you feel about me?”

Huh? “What kind of a question is that? You know already.”

“Say.”

“You _know.”_

He still won’t look at you.

“Dave. You know. I'm here with you. We're sharing a home. Sharing a bed. Building a life together. I never thought I’d have what I have with you. I never thought someone would get this close, see me for me, and stay anyway. There’s no conceivable way in any universe that you don’t know how I feel.”

He strains to keep his voice level. “Can you please just say it.” 

“It's not a troll word. It’s not a troll quadrant. It's not how we do it.”

“Karkat,” he says. “I said ‘I love you’ because I love you. I am in love with you. I need to hear it back. This is killing me right now. Please just say.”

You’re paralyzed. You can’t. You’re not like Kanaya. 

You turn away, toward the kitchen window. After a minute, you hear him leave the room; after 15 more, he returns, pausing in the doorway. “I’m going to John’s.” A moment hangs in the air and is gone. You press your hands against the countertop. The front door opens and is quietly closed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heartbroken heroes seek out the advice of their closest friends. Because of course they do.  
> \--
> 
> You unfurl yourself from the cozy blanket and stand. “Congratulations, Rose. Sorry I had to leave the reception. Dave wasn’t quite himself.”
> 
> “Don’t give it a thought. Has he recovered?”
> 
> “I’m not sure. This is kind of stupid, but could I bounce something off of you?”
> 
> “By all means,” she says with a smile. “Step into my office. The doctor is in.”  
> \--

**Karkat: Try to rest.**

The front door closes softly and you feel like shit. It’s just a word. You should have said it. No. Yes. Ugh. You step outside. Still dark except for a glimmer in the east. A warm breeze flutters the awnings above you. Dave is nowhere to be seen. Nothing you can do about it now. You go back to the kitchen, wash and dry his wine glass, and place it in the cupboard before retreating to your shared bedroom.

As you hang up your suit jacket, you notice a bump in the pocket, and draw out the red silk pocket square he loaned you. You shake it out, planning to leave it on the dresser, which is when you notice his heart-shaped trickster shades. You unfold them and experimentally try them on.

The light around you turns sweet—softer and subtly brighter. Colors are more vivid. They flow and merge across the boundaries of objects. Everything you look at in the bedroom—an African violet in a pot, a sketch Dave made of you, even an ordinary desk chair—becomes somehow more perfect, as if you were seeing a truer, more essential version of itself. It’s honestly beautiful. You can see why he kept them.

You turn slowly in the bedroom, seeing what else changes and reveals itself through the heart shades. Outside your window, the landscape is glowing with the grace of new sunlight. Then you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your reflected self... it’s not the way you feel at all. The mirrored you looks noble, generous. Chivalrous and kind. You wonder whether, when Dave was so irrepressibly joyful last night, he was able to see you this way.

Reluctantly, you take off the heart shades and set them on the dresser. You strip to your boxers and t-shirt. Select a rainfall track on your audio player. Curling into the sheets, uneasy in the unwanted solitude, you hug his pillow and try to lull yourself to sleep, counting the monotonous drip of digital water on artificial leaves.

**Dave: Go to John’s.**

He’s left the porch light on for you, made redundant by the dawning sun. You let yourself in. There’s a note on the kitchen table.

“hi dave! i had to crash. make yourself at home, i’ll be up in a couple hours. – j.”

You sprawl across John’s couch, pulling an afghan over yourself and poking at the TV remote halfheartedly. All you find is the usual weekend morning bullshit: carapacian game shows and weird troll/human fusion cooking shows and This Week in Consort Sports. There’s a documentary on trans-species body modification, which you stare at for a while before putting your head down on the armrest. Just for a minute, you tell yourself.

**Karkat: Use a lifeline.**

CG: KANAYA. HAPPY MARRIED LIFE, DAY ONE.  
CG: COULD I TALK TO YOUR WIFE A MOMENT?  
GA: Hello Karkat And Thank You For Your Good Wishes  
GA: Mrs Me Is Sleeping Off The Party  
GA: If You Are Not Doing The Same I Fear You Did Not Have A Sufficient Amount Of Fun  
CG: I WON’T POINT OUT THAT YOU’RE NOT ASLEEP EITHER.  
GA: I Could Be Sleeptyping  
GA: But No  
GA: I Am Too Excited To Sleep So I Made Tea And Watched The Sun Come Up  
GA: The Sunrise Today Was Particularly Rosy  
GA: Ha Ha That Is Lovely I Will Have To Tell Her That  
GA: Why Do You Need Her By The Way  
CG: UGH. INTERSPECIES ROMANCE SHENANIGANS. I ACTUALLY COULD USE YOUR ADVICE.  
GA: I Would Be More Than Delighted To Oblige  
GA: You Are Welcome To Be Our First Visitor As Marrieds  
CG: THANKS. I’LL BE RIGHT OVER. I APPRECIATE IT.

Kanaya offers you a big, fluffy blanket and a tankard of hot chocolate, and you nestle into a lounge chair on her terrace on this nippy morning. She wraps herself in a down comforter and sips her tea. The hot chocolate is silky-smooth and sends a pleasant buzz through your bloodstream.

“What a relief it’s over,” she says. “I am so pleased to be able to think about something other than wedding planning.”

“Kanaya, can I ask why you did it?” you say. “How did she talk you into it?”

“Actually, it was my idea,” she says. “I do not have to remind you how many ways I have had my blood pusher broken. Unrequited moirallegiance, trying to auspisticize pairs that just want to be kismeses. To be honest, when Rose began to explain the human way, it resonated with some of the very old myths I had learned and forgotten.”

“What myths?” This hot chocolate may be the most sensual thing you’ve ever drunk. You’re trying to make each mouthful last.

“I am thinking of the Signless and the Disciple. ‘It was said their love went beyond the four quadrants.’ Do you remember that from schoolfeed?”

“That’s just a tale for wigglers.”

“Karkat, I do not think so. Not anymore.” She pauses, searching for the right words. “What you see as blurry and unbounded, I see as liberating. I do not have to hold back a feeling I have for Rose just because it does not fit. I feel more truly myself this way—and, yes, more capable of loving her.”

“Huh.” You peer into the tankard. How did you drink so much of it in so little time? Its warmth is a soothing second blanket to you. 

“I came to realize I wanted an external ceremony to acknowledge how I felt inside. Both about her and about myself, loving her. To marry her, however unusual and, I daresay, unprecedented for our people, seemed the most apt thing I could do. Despite all the terrifying and destructive and sad things we went through with the game, I am grateful, because they made it possible for us to choose differently for ourselves.”

“I am thankful that you chose me, my love,” says Rose from the terrace doors. She’s wearing a fluffy lavender bathrobe and bunny slippers. “Good morning, Karkat. Darling, thank you for letting me sleep.” You glance away as she leans over to kiss her wife.

Setting the tankard down, you unfurl yourself from the cozy blanket and stand. “Congratulations, Rose. Sorry I had to leave the reception. Dave wasn’t quite himself.”

“Don’t give it a thought. Has he recovered?”

“I’m not sure. This is kind of stupid, but could I bounce something off of you?”

“By all means,” she says with a smile. “Step into my office. The doctor is in.”

**Rose: Counsel.**

“It certainly sounds stressful,” you say after listening to Karkat rant for 20 minutes. “How have you two been managing it so far?”

“That’s just it. Controlled vacillation is completely doable if you plan ahead and aren’t a hopeless idiot about it,” he retorts. “I busted my ass designing a sensible, reasonable schedule that makes this whole thing a non-issue. It’s simple. Moirails on odd days, matesprits on even days.”

“And never the twain shall meet,” you say.

“Exactly. Stick to the schedule and there’s no confusion. It’s all right there.”

“I suppose you don’t let your gravy touch your mashed potatoes, either.”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind. So Dave has been going along with this, what did you call it, controlled vacillation?” you ask.

Karkat scoffs. “What do you think? He’s incapable of taking important things seriously.”

He shows you his relationship schedule, once a tidy table penciled in his precise all-caps handwriting. Dave has written over the hearts and diamonds with labels like “cuddle day” and “doin it day” and “gaze into my eyes oclock” and “depraved boning day.” Then he added “doris day,” “morris day,” and “green day.” Other squares say “boardwalk,” “park place,” “you sunk my battleship,” “go fish,” “third base,” “home plate,” and “yahtzee.” He’s connected days with chutes and ladders, sketched the peppermint stick forest and gumdrop mountain pass from Candy Land, and doodled a few dicks in the margins for good measure. It is a work of art.

You laugh. “Never change, Dave. I expected no less.”

Karkat shoves the schedule into his sylladex. “There wouldn’t be a problem if he would just pull his head out of his waste chute and see reason.”

“See reason? Karkat, I wouldn’t say reason is what needs to be taking place here,” you say gently. “As a wise human once said, ‘The heart has its reasons that reason knows nothing about.’”

He looks away for a few minutes. He’s playing with a square of red silk he took from his pocket, folding it into quarters and smoothing it flat. Finally, he mumbles, “I just want us to be together.”

“I think he wants that too,” you say.

“What if I say the love word to him?”

“What if you do?”

“Will he stay?” 

If there’s anyone who ever needed a hug, it’s Karkat. You stay in the therapeutic moment, though. “I can’t promise anything. If you say it only to make him stay, the day will come when you’ll wish you’d never said it at all. However, I can tell you from my own experience that when Kanaya finally said it back to me, it went a long way toward my feeling that she truly wanted to understand me. That she could accept being out of her comfort zone if it meant strengthening what we were attempting to weave together. I put significant effort into learning about the quadrants—mixed signals I’d been unwittingly sending, appropriate and inappropriate times to shoosh, that sort of thing. I hadn’t realized how complicated it could be. But she knew I wanted to learn, just to be with her.”

**Dave: Rise and shine.**

You open your eyes to a sun-filled room. John is crouched by the sofa, calling your name. “Hi,” he says as you groggily focus your eyes on him. “Making coffee. Want some?”

“Yeah, thanks.” You push yourself off the couch and follow him to the kitchen. John pours a bowl of beaten eggs into a pan on the stove and gives them a stir. You rummage for a mug.

“There’s bread on the counter, could you get some toast going?” says John. “And grab a couple kinds of hot sauce from the fridge door.” Simple instructions. Easy to follow, nobody gets hurt. You like that in a set of directions.

“Some party last night,” he goes on. “I’ve never seen Rose so unabashedly happy.”

“You got dosed by Calliope’s special lollipop, too, didn’t you?” You’re grateful for the bitter coffee.

“Hoo boy, I sure did,” says John. “I don’t think any of us dodged the juju.”

“Karkat did,” you say softly. John raises an eyebrow. He shakes salt over the eggs and keeps stirring.

“Jane and I had some kind of spontaneous joke-telling competition,” he says. “I don’t know who won. Jake taught us all a goofy dance he learned as a little kid and we were falling down laughing our asses off. The mail lady caught the bouquet and she and the Mayor made themselves scarce after that.” He moves the frying pan off the heat. “Come and get it.”

You drench your toast and eggs with hot sauce. John watches you poke the same clump of scrambled eggs a few times with your fork. “Are you and he... okay? Your text was a little strange.”

“You really want to hear about this?” you say. “Happy to drop it if it gets weird.”

John shrugs with his mouth full of toast. Emboldened by his failure to run away screaming “gay cooties,” you keep talking. “I think I need Karkat more than he needs me.”

“What makes you think so?” he says between bites.

Bluh. “I kind of pushed too hard on something and now I probably wrecked it. I should have let it ride.”

John chases his eggs with a gulp of coffee. “Did you hurt him?”

“I don’t... think so?” 

“Did he hurt you?”

“I mean. No. But. I wanted something and he’s not interested in giving it to me.”

“Dude. TMI.”

“Oh, shut up, Egbert. I asked him a question, he didn’t answer, I ollied out.” Yeah, you’re just not feeling this plate of eggs right now. Sorry, little pre-chickens. You deserved better than to end up this way, all mixed up and unwanted and slathered in green tabasco. You push the plate away and go search the fridge for something else to drink.

John says, “Check the freezer, there’s a can of concentrated O.J. we can stir up.”

“Nah, s’alright.” 

John polishes off his plate. You push yours toward him. He scrapes off half the tabasco and digs in.

“I guess I just wish he’d get past the stupid quadrants. He’s so damned hung up on them.”

John says, “He’s really entrenched in the quadrant thing.”

“Yeah. It’s still his favorite stuff to talk about. And it’s freaking him out that we’re not settling in just one quadrant. We’re best diamond bros, we’re... you know what, it just got weird. New topic. How’s Roxy?” You stand and stack dishes to take to the sink.

“Dave. Leave those a second,” says John. “Have a seat.” You do. He sounded a lot like Jane’s dad just then.

“Um, so,” he says. “I don’t have to tell you I am pretty dense about this stuff. But even I can see he cares a lot about you. Like, a lot a lot.”

“Sure,” you say, looking at your warped reflection in your spoon.

“So, like, this isn’t my story, it isn’t my experience. But maybe he’s having trouble accepting that he plays by other rules than what he’s believed all his life? I mean, you of all people should know what he’s going through. All the stuff you’ve had to figure out about liking both guys and girls. Right?”

“Oh man, all that crap I babbled at you, you were actually listening the whole time. I did not see that coming.” You absently dance your fork and spoon on the kitchen table.

“Okay, okay. My point is, it gave you a lot to reckon with for a while. He’s struggling. Just—maybe don’t try to force the issue. I bet you he’ll get there in time.”

“Well, but did I fuck up by asking for what I wanted?” Your fork and spoon circle one another like boxers bracing for the first jab.

John puffs out his cheeks and exhales, thinking. “I don’t know what you asked him for. You don’t have to tell me. But it’s okay to ask. Just be ready in case the answer is no.”

The spoon attempts to dip the fork. You let them go and they clatter on the plates. “I didn’t even get a no. I got dead air.”

“Maybe he’s still thinking about it. Maybe it’s yes and he’s figuring out how to say it.” He starts clearing the table. “I’ve got a couple of things I need to do. Wanna tag along?”

Not surprisingly, John’s the mini-mayor of his neighborhood. He takes a cake to a nearby family, and you hold the door open for him. He stops by another house to help assemble a bookcase, and you pass him nails and hold the planks in place while he hammers them in. He shows you a pile of spare bicycle parts in his garage, and the two of you spend a couple of hours goofing off and eventually constructing something child-sized and plausibly road-worthy. You take turns pedaling it up and down the sidewalk, your knees pointing at crazy angles, before rolling it to the home of a bright-eyed and very excited little kid. She rings the bicycle bell as you wave your goodbyes and walk back to his house.

“People here got mad love for you, Egbert,” you tell him.

“It’s a pretty good life...” he trails off.

“You see much of the Crockers?”

“Occasionally.” He looks wistful. “Sometimes I hear Crocker talking and he sounds just like my dad. It’s weird for him, too. I almost think he wants my approval.” He laughs shortly. “Then there’s Jane and Nannasprite, the prankster twins. My life is weird, Dave.”

You glance up at the house. “Want a hand taking down that birthday banner before I go?”

His smile flickers almost imperceptibly. “Nah, leave it. I’ll get it another day.”

You decide to head home and face the music. You try to fist-bump John and he laughs and pulls you in for a hug. “You’re gonna figure it out,” he says. “I believe in you guys.”

“Thanks, bro.” 

**Dave: Find your way home.**

“Karkat. Yo, Karkat,” you call as you walk in. There’s no answer. Nobody in the living room, nobody in the kitchen. You take a deep breath and peek inside the room you share with Karkat. Nobody there either. The bed’s been slept in, his dress shirt and pants are draped neatly over a chair. Your heart-shaped trickster shades sit folded on the dresser. You captchalogue them and go to tap on Jade’s door, but she’s not home either.

You’re in the living room flipping through your usual websites when it occurs to you to check your messages. Oh – Karkat pinged you about 10 minutes ago. How did you miss that?

CG: HEY.  
CG: YOU STILL AT JOHN’S?  
CG: JUST LEAVING THE GROCERY STORE.  
CG: I’M WALKING THE LONG WAY HOME, BY THE LAKE, IF YOU SEE THIS AND WANT TO MEET ME ON THE PATH.  
CG: ALSO I HAVE LOVE FOR YOU. OR I FEEL LOVE TOWARD YOU.  
CG: FUCK. THIS MIGHT BE BETTER IN PERSON.  
CG: FIND ME, OKAY?  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff For the Fluff Gods

**Karkat: Shop.**

You’re not shopping so much as you’re conducting a walking meditation up and down the aisles of the little grocery store in town. Fine, you’re pacing. You’re a churning kettle. Relieved at having spoken with Rose, but also anxious about saying too much in her comfortable little office. Stressed and hopeful just thinking about Dave. You want to make it up to him. You want to be the generous Karkat you saw through the heart shades. 

Fuck it, as long as you’re writing to Santa, you’d also like someone to notarize an official document promising you’re not going to knock the entire thing into the load gaper.

You pace, scanning the shelves. You’re remembering the drink Kanaya gave you this morning. Hot chocolate. A mug of molten, bittersweet velvet that sank all the way to your core. The unctuous warmth on your tongue. You think Dave would be into it. He’d taste it, close his eyes, nod with that one-pixel smile. Maybe he’d persuade you to have some, too. Maybe let you taste the last drops clinging to his lips...

Um. That escalated quickly.

You shake the daydream off and look around. On a shelf of baking ingredients are several bars of chocolate. You find what you’re looking for, a large bar with an ornate, foil-embossed black label. Step one, obtain chocolate, done.

Outside the store, you find a shady spot to check your phone. Send a quick text to Dave to see if he’s still with John. Walk to the corner, turn down a side street. Stop and check again. Send another text letting him know where to find you. Continue to the entrance to the walking trail, the one that runs alongside the lake. Stop and check again, even though only three minutes have elapsed and you didn’t hear your phone chime. 

You decide to go for it. You write something... hover over the send button... yeah, just say it. Second-guess yourself. Write something else. Ugh. You should have kept this simple from the start.

FIND ME, OKAY?

“Hi, Karkat!”

You have summoned a witch. “Hey, Jade.”

“Are you walking home, too? I picked up seedlings for the garden. It’s going to be so cool. We’ll have rows of tomatoes and carrots and lettuce—you like salad, right? Did you have vegetables on Alternia?”

“Of course we had vegetables. We fed them to the beasts that we fed to our lusii.”

“Karkat! Stop before I lose my appetite. Hey, want to cook together tonight? I bought steaks to throw on the grill. I think food cooked outdoors tastes better, don’t you? Or is it the fresh air?” She fills your head with happy chatter as you start the walk home.

\--

**Dave: Find him, okay?**

All right, all right. You're going. No need to look eager. You open the fridge door for the fourth time. For the fourth time, you see there’s plenty of apple juice. Looks like the situation here is under control. You should get going.

You catch an updraft and glide above the lake, scoping out the path for any sign of Karkat. You’ll surprise him. You’ll be casually hanging upside-down from a tree branch, where your cape can float into his face. He’s adorable when he’s flustered. 

Or maybe you’ll leap out and block his way, insisting that you are the toll collector and he must pay. Pay for his distracting, secret smile, pay for his soulful eyes, pay for—

Found him. Damn. You thought he’d be alone.

... You’re leaning against a tree when they come around the bend in the path. “Sup, peeps.”

“Hi, dork,” says Karkat. 

“Hi, Dave!” Jade hugs you tightly, as if she hadn’t just seen you the day before. “Karkat told me you went to hang out with John.”

“Yeah. Got up to our usual shenanigans. The board of directors met about the quarterly results for shenanigans, and our team just about hit our target figures. Solid B performance, ‘meets expectations.’”

“You’re such a nerd,” Jade says, wedging herself between the two of you as you walk. “What’d you guys do all day?”

“Nothing much. Built a bike, met some of his neighbors. He’s got a pretty sweet community over there.”

“It’s good he keeps busy. Probably helps take his mind off everything.”

“What’s he got to take his mind off of?” says Karkat. 

“Oh. Oops. I thought everyone knew by now,” says Jade. “He asked Roxy out and she shot him down. He’s been kind of bummed about it.”

“That sucks,” says Karkat at the same time that you say, “Damn.” Karkat looks at you in disbelief. “You didn’t know either? How did it not come up all day? What kind of a friend are you?”

You feel like the goalie who just fumbled the 3-point basket that would have sent the team to Wimbledon. “We were talking about other stuff,” you say, sheepish. Karkat winces.

“He’s probably not ready to talk about it,” says Jade. “Bet he was happy to see you.” 

\--

**Karkat: Be the gourmet.**

Jade grills the steaks like a pro. The three of you carry your plates up to the flat roof, where you’ve set up comfy pillows and a low table. The meat is juicy, with a nice savory crust. You carve thin slices of your steak, Dave chops his into little cubes before skewering them on his fork, and Jade, well, Jade picks hers up with both hands and sinks her teeth in with gusto. She does a seated happy dance as she eats. If she had a tail, she’d be wagging it.

Once or twice you look up to see Dave looking your way—you think. Hard to tell. What else is new. You say, “I spent the morning with the newlyweds. They gave me a drink that puts all others to shame.”

Dave’s eyebrows rise above his shades. “You talked to Rose?” He doesn’t have to add, _About us?_

“Yes, Dave,” you say. “I went to talk to my dear friend and her wife.”

Jade blots her mouth with a paper towel. “Did they make you try their hot chocolate? So good.”

“Yeah. Surprisingly good. So I bought some. I thought we could make it for dessert.”

Jade says, “Do you know how? I can help.”

The three of you troop back to the kitchen. You stack the dinner dishes in the sink. Jade hunts for a saucepan while Dave reads the chocolate bar’s matte black wrapper. “‘Lalonde’s Grimdark’? Why am I suddenly afraid for my mortal soul?”

“Apparently it’s something new that Jane developed at CrockerCorp.” You take the bar, unwrap it, and drop it into Jade’s saucepan, which you set on the stove.

“Dude, that’s not how it works,” says Dave, coming to stand next to you. 

You shove him gently. “It’s ‘hot’ ‘chocolate,’ Dave. Take chocolate. Add hot. What part aren’t you getting?”

“No, I’m telling you, you got to break it up, chunk-ways.” Dave grabs the chocolate bar out of the pot and starts snapping it into pieces. 

“Get your hands off my chocolate.” You try to grab it back, but Dave holds it high over his head, laughing. 

“You guys, no horsing around in the kitchen, the stove’s still on,” says Jade. “Give me that.” Dave passes chocolate and saucepan to her. She dumps all the chocolate onto a cutting board, then gets milk from the fridge and pours some into the saucepan. “Dave, you keep an eye on that, don’t let it boil.” She chops the chocolate into little pieces and sets it aside. To the heating milk, she adds a big spoonful of sugar, a smaller spoonful of instant coffee, and a pinch of salt. When little bubbles appear at the edges, she pours the chocolate chunks in and hands you a whisk. “Okay, Karkat, stir this and don’t stop.”

It shouldn’t work but it does. As you whisk, the lumpy mess gradually thickens into a silky brown cream. “You _are_ a witch,” says Dave, impressed. “You didn’t even use Swiss Miss.”

Jade brings you two cups from the cabinet. “Enjoy your love potion,” she says with a wink. “I’m going to turn in.”

“Aren’t you having any?” you ask. The aroma is seductive and sweet.

“I can’t have chocolate,” she says. “Not anymore. I’ll leave clean-up to you, since I cooked. G’night!”

With Jade gone, you’re suddenly aware of the exact distance between you and Dave, how tense you’ve been all evening. Dave picks up his cup and swirls the liquid thoughtfully. He takes one sip, then another, longer one. After too long a pause, he says, “Karkat?”

“Yeah?” You realize your heart is pounding.

“We really should do these dishes.”

\--

**Dave: Don’t force it.**

You find yourselves standing side by side at the kitchen sink. An open window lets in a cool night breeze. Karkat’s in up to his forearms in hot, soapy water. You take each plate as he rinses it, wipe it dry, and stack it to put away.

Karkat cocks his ear, listening. “Nice soundtrack, I like this organic stuff of yours.”

“The sound system isn’t on,” you say. “I think it’s actual bugs. Outside.”

“Oh.”

Karkat washes the knives, then the forks. You wipe them and put them in the drawer.

“Dinner came out good,” he ventures.

“Yeah,” you agree. “Your dog tier wants steak.” 

“Heh.”

He tops up your cups with the rest of the hot chocolate, then leaves the pan to soak. You hang the dishtowel over the back of a chair. You drink your hot chocolate in silence.

“Do you want to—” he begins at the same time that you say, “We could—” With a “go ahead” gesture from you and a “no, you first” head tilt from him, you try again. “We could go for a walk. If you want.”

“Sure.” He picks up his cup of hot chocolate and walks to the door.

“You’re taking that with you?” you ask.

“I’m certainly not wasting it,” he replies.

Together you walk down the path toward the lake. Tiny beasts chitter in the dark. Stars sprinkle the deep blue sky with sugar crystals.

“Look,” he says. “Don’t think this is going to be a regular thing. But—you were right.”

“Hold. The fucking. Phone,” you say, pretending to clutch at your heart.

He leans against your side, the way he’s done for years. A little like a shove, but fond, his way of being close to you.

“I’m serious. I should have said this a long time ago.” 

“It’s okay,” you say. “You don’t have to if you’re not cool with it.”

He stops, takes your hand, turns to face you. “Dave,” he says. “I have love for you.”

Somebody owes you an Olympic fucking medal for the heroic effort you just expended to hold back your belly laugh. As it is, you cough a couple times before you can finally spit out, “You sure about that?”

“Am I sure? I’m pretty fucking sure, Dave.”

“Is it a lot? Like, a whole lotta love?”

He looks directly at you for two, three heartbeats. Then he looks down. “Some days,” he says, “it feels like more than I can carry.”

You put an arm around his shoulders and draw him close. He wraps his arms around your waist. “Yeah,” you say.

He’s so warm. You stand like that, just breathing together, not speaking. You feel him relax as the tension in his shoulders releases. Then he breaks off, taking your hand so you can walk together alongside the lake.

He looks back toward the house. “Moon’s coming up.”

“You wanna go in?”

“No. Not yet.”

You walk, listening to the night creatures, the wind at the tops of the trees. 

“Karkat?”

“What?”

“I have love for you, too.”

He exhales in relief. “I know.”

“You better.”

He interweaves his fingers with yours, leaning in to brush his lips against your cheek. “Pitiful, pitiful thing,” he murmurs.

It’s all too much. You reel away from him, letting out a whoop that echoes across the lake. You’re full to bursting—the cool night air, the rush of blood to your face, the glow from the rising moon. Pouring and pouring over your skin, out your fingertips, a vessel far too small to contain everything that’s coursing through you now. 

“Roo ruv me! Roo ruv me!” You’re laughing like an idiot, yelping to the entire world. “Woooooo!”

“Dave, if you’ve been hitting the lollipop again, I swear,” Karkat says, forehead in hand.

“Hells no,” you say. “This is one hundred percent unadulterated Strider, accept no imitations, limitations, or compromising situations.”

“ _Now_ I’m ready to go in,” he says. But he reaches for you as he says it, and he’s smiling his secret smile, bright as stars.


End file.
